The Black Wolf's Captive (The Highland Wolf Series Book 1)

by Tessa Murran

  ‘I’m sorry Ailsa,’ he said bringing his hand up to her forehead and stroking her hair. ‘It will not hurt for long I promise.’ As he started moving against her again the pain slowly receded and something sinful took its place.

  Duncan was aware of Ailsa stiffening underneath him. He had not wanted to hurt her but it was necessary. He tried to delay his passion though it was all he could do not to push her hard, down into the bed and spill himself into her. He looked at her directly his eyes blazing.

  ‘I am sorry to cause you pain but it will subside. Move against me Ailsa, come with me lass.’ He kissed her softly and was still for a while in the hope that she would become accustomed to him. When she gasped a little and kissed him back he started to move inside her again very gently and slowly. Her kisses becoming more urgent as her body responded to his touch and she rose up hesitantly to meet him.

  ‘That’s good, lass, so good. You were made for this.’

  As she slid over him Ailsa felt a yearning that surged in and out like the tide, emboldening her and moving her to tentatively push back against his gliding, thrusting hips. She was sore there but something else was stirring beyond that. The wanton feeling was building again and to her shame, she wanted to spread her legs wider and wider for him - to take all of him into her, to be full of him. It was a kind of beautiful agony, a primitive need that she could not control even if she had wanted to.

  She no longer cared what he did. It was as if she had stepped outside of herself as if control of her body and mind had been relinquished to him. There was just this one sweet moment of release from everything, her confusion, her fear and her loneliness. All of it was washed away by his mouth and his hands all over her and his manhood deep within her, swelling and demanding and then she lost herself to pure blinding pleasure. ‘No, please no’ she cried.

  Duncan heard her cry out, her fingernails digging into his back. His arousal burst over him and he lost control, pulling her tightly to him and pushing his head against her neck. He spilt his seed into her and cried out her name.

  As his breathing calmed Duncan felt a surge of possessiveness. Her virginity was his and she had wanted him. As she lay trembling under him he triumphed in his victory. He raised his head to gaze at her and saw a face streaming with tears. She was sobbing quietly, great heaving sobs which she was trying to contain and his triumph melted away like a mist. He pulled himself out of her and tried to draw her to him.

  ‘Don’t touch me, please, please’ she begged, her arms outstretched in a defensive gesture.

  Duncan was bewildered, any words of comfort dying on his lips as she regarded him with a look of such desolation that he felt he could not touch her. Had he hurt her that much? He had not intended to be rough but in his driving need had he lost control of his desire? She had not told him to stop. He was sure she had wanted him, every movement, every sigh, as he made love to her had told him that. But now she pulled the blankets around her and turned away from him and when he reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder, she flinched. Trying to overcome a crushing sense of disappointment Duncan said, ‘Lass what’s wrong? I had no wish to hurt you and if I did I am sorry for it.’

  ‘Please go’ she replied. ‘Please leave me alone.’

  He reached for her again.

  ‘Don’t touch me, I can’t bear it’. She scuttled off the bed away from him. ‘Just leave me. Please. I beg you,’ she pleaded in a voice thick with tears.

  ‘I was sure….’ He trailed off not knowing what to do.

  ‘I did my duty as your wife and now I beg that you leave me alone.’

  ‘Ailsa forgive me. I thought you wanted me.’

  ‘No…I did not want this,’ she whispered.

  Duncan looked from the anguished, tear-stained face to the bright smear of blood on the bed where he had lain with her. He had failed. She still thought him a filthy, lecherous animal and she was repelled by him. She hadn’t given him the gift of her virginity, he had taken it so that what he thought had been mutual passion had been ravishment and pain for her. He got up and wordlessly wrapped his kilt around his nakedness, a cold shame biting into his chest.

  ‘Ailsa I don’t understand,’ he said shaking his head.

  She just stood there, looking at him warily.

  ‘If I hurt you in any way then I am sorry. Ailsa, talk to me. Tell me what I have done wrong. You seemed to want me.’

  She shook her head vehemently and backed further away from him. His triumph had turned to ashes. Hating himself and unable to bear the sight of her stricken face a moment longer, Duncan grabbed his things and left her. The door slammed behind him.

  Ailsa stared after him and sobbed to herself. ‘I did want you. I did and it was wrong. Oh God forgive me, what have I done?’

  Chapter Nine

  Ailsa spent a sleepless night reliving the events with Duncan and overcome by sadness and self-loathing. She had mortally offended her new husband and, though she hated being under his power, she had not meant to undermine her cause by being on the wrong side of him. Striking at his pride by rejecting him had wounded the most vulnerable part of him. When she had said ‘I did not want this,’ she meant that she did not want to enjoy sharing his bed, to like his touch on her body. But that was not what he had heard.

  Ailsa had held in the fear, grief and hopelessness which the fall of Clan MacLeod and the death of her father had brought her. It was all too much for her to bear and she had buried her feelings deep inside, resolving to be strong for the sake of her ailing mother and the people of her clan. This strength of purpose had enabled her to survive the darkest days of the past year and to steel herself against the uncertainty of her future.

  This wedding night was one more ordeal to be survived. But Duncan had not been rough or cruel; he had not revelled in her defeat. His tenderness and the gentle way he had aroused her had been unexpected. He was something to hold onto in the darkness. Instead of keeping him at arms-length she had wanted him, needed him and she had given in to seduction like the tavern slut she’d first pretended to be. In Ailsa’s mind, she had become her enemy’s whore.

  Worse still the feelings awakened by his touch were too much to bear. That moment of ecstasy, reached as one, had immediately been replaced by an awful guilt, shame and loneliness. Such feelings had burst over her like a dam breaking and she could not hold them back no matter how she tried. When the tears had come, as she lay shaking underneath him, they would not stop and he had seen them. There was no taking back the insult to his manhood now.

  Ailsa slowly got dressed, aware of a sore feeling between her legs and fresh shame washed over her as her mind stole back to the previous night. ‘Please god let him have some good in him, make him listen to me, let me explain,’ she thought. She had to hold fast to her plan to protect those she held dear and to do that she could not be in Duncan’s bad graces.

  She walked to the great hall on feet of lead. As she entered a hush came over its occupants and the room fell silent save for the spatter of gusty rain against the windows and the crackling of the fire in the hearth. Duncan was nowhere to be seen. Instead of breaking his fast triumphantly with his new bride by his side Laird Campbell was not there.

  What conclusion could everyone draw other than that the wedding night had been a disappointment, that she had failed to please her new husband and that he had already abandoned her? Ailsa walked slowly and mounted the dais to the high table fully exposed to the gloating stares of women who hated her for removing Duncan from the marriage market, for being young, for being beautiful. Then a wave of whispers snaked its way around the hall breaking into spiteful laughter. Ailsa took her seat and fixed each and every one of them with a baleful stare, holding their eyes with hers until shame made them look away. Holding her ground was easy because she was not frightened of them; she could brush off their malice and jealousy. But she was afraid of facing Duncan.

  .

  The stag crashed headlong through the wet bracken in a desperate attempt
to escape its hunter. Duncan stayed with it, rain running in cold streams down his face and hands, slipping in the wet saddle but somehow holding his seat. He was almost on it now and rode recklessly through the dense woodland, driving Ares over fallen logs and lashing at branches that whipped against his face. In order to quell the feelings of frustration and anger swirling inside him, Duncan had resolved to go out and kill something.

  He came to the top of a steep ravine, rocks tumbling down to a fast flowing river below, surging with floodwater. Without hesitation, he kicked his horse down over the edge and somehow managed to reach the bottom in one piece by slipping and sliding in a flurry of hooves and mud into the icy water. The cold took his breath away as the powerful steed pushed for the bank, its huge chest muscles driving the powerful legs onwards. The exhausted stag had already dragged itself out of the clutches of the river and Duncan followed.

  The others had been left behind as they had not dared to go down the ravine and so it was him and his prey now. Almost upon it, he focussed solely on that. Rounding a bend in the river he saw it was trapped. Part of the high bank had collapsed in the heavy rainfall bringing several trees down with it and the stag could only escape by retracing its steps back towards its hunter. It bayed helplessly, running back and forth in panic.

  Duncan drew his bow, stilled his horse and took aim. The desperate creature, as if knowing its fate was sealed, stopped dead in its tracks, panting heavily and looked at him with its soft brown eyes. It pawed the ground and lowered its antlers in defence. ‘Such courage,’ thought Duncan, ‘it is lost but it does not give in nor submit meekly to its fate; it chooses to fight on until the arrow pierces its heart.’ He stayed with his bow trained on the stag for what seemed like an eternity, warring with himself. Self-loathing overcame him again making him lower the bow. ‘I’ve broken enough beauty for one day,’ he said.

  Riding back to the castle sometime later, Rory drew alongside him. He was not thrilled to have been dragged out of a warm bed at dawn by Duncan, along with several other astonished companions. They had set off in the half light and hours later Duncan still showed no intention of returning to the castle’s warmth and after a tiring hunt in appalling weather, they had nothing to show for their efforts. The icy dawn had turned into a cold morning, the sky on the horizon lit a drizzly grey.

  It was clear to Rory that Duncan had not slept. This was to be expected on a man’s wedding night but the dark shadows beneath his black eyes and the thunderous look on his face had prevented Rory from questioning him and they did not speak other than the essentials. Eventually, curiosity got the better of him and when they drew ahead of the others and out of earshot he turned to Duncan.

  ‘So my friend, I trust you come well rested from your marriage bed.’

  Duncan glared at him and did not reply.

  ‘What a crying shame to leave a warm and bonny wife to go hunting in such filthy weather,’ he continued, unbowed by his companion’s hostile silence.

  ‘My wife had no further need of me and I had a need to hunt,’ replied Duncan through gritted teeth.

  ‘No further need?’

  ‘The marriage has been consummated. All is legal and binding. I have done my duty,’ replied Duncan in a voice like granite.

  ‘It was hardly an onerous duty considering the lass in question and surely one should consummate one’s marriage more than once - just to be sure,’ Rory replied, smiling.

  Duncan whirled his horse around. ‘Question me no further on this subject I warn you!’

  Rory knew his friend well enough to see beyond the anger to the desolation on Duncan’s face. ‘Very well, but…’

  Duncan cut him off. ‘The marriage is consummated. It is binding and Ailsa and her clan and lands are mine. All this is mine…for as long as I can hold it,’ he said gesturing dismissively to the mist and rain-sodden hills around them.

  ‘Then why are you not abed and happy my friend?’

  Some moments passed before he answered. ‘Because I lay with her and she cannot bear me.’

  ‘She was a virgin was she not? Surely she may take a while to get used to a man’s attentions, especially yours?’

  ‘She will never get used to my attentions,’ Duncan replied bitterly. ‘I can take her as many times as I want. I can mount her more often than I mount my horse but she’ll never get used to me. She simply does not want me and the more she hates me the more I ache to have her.’

  Rory was shocked by this admission from his proud friend and by the hint of shame in Duncan’s voice. What could have happened between them for him to feel so hopeless about Ailsa? He knew Duncan to be a decent man if a little bleak at times and he would surely not have mistreated the lass.

  ‘Perhaps you have had life too easy my friend. Women have always dropped into your lap as easily as ripe apples fall from a tree. How often have you ever had to chase one, at least not for long? Maybe this prize is harder to win and therefore more worth the effort, though I fear patience was never your strong suit.’

  ‘You are wrong my friend. Ailsa finds me repellent.’

  ‘Well the rub is if you ache to have her, how will you salve that ache? Find another?’

  ‘Yes perhaps.’

  ‘Good, take a mistress and then surely marital bliss will follow. Lying with a woman you don’t really want will surely make the one you do really want fall swooning into your arms,’ said Rory sarcastically.

  ‘What would you advise then, wise one?’ snarled Duncan, giving his friend an evil look.

  ‘She is your wife so if you want her, have her, it is your right. Also, we are in need of an heir to unite the clans and strengthen your position.’ Rory was nothing if not practical. ‘Shunning the marriage bed won’t achieve that but you must be kind and gentle. Persevere and use some charm, which I am sure you have buried somewhere in that hard heart of yours.

  ‘You would have me seduce my own wife,’ Duncan replied indignantly.

  ‘Aye, if needs be, else you can resolve yourself to being miserable. Ailsa had no choice in being married off to a cold brute like you so prove to her that you are better than that. And ponder a moment on all the diversion you could have doing it. Love is a game my friend, you must resolve to play it well.’

  ‘Do not speak of love Rory.’

  The conversation died as the sound of hooves on the path behind them signalled the others were catching up. Duncan glared at Rory again and without further ado swung his horse around and spurred it forward at a gallop.

  ‘Try a wee gift,’ Rory shouted after him, unabashed. ‘Women always like gifts.’

  Night had fallen by the time Duncan returned to the castle. Ailsa heard the clatter of hooves and shouts of the watchmen and shuddered. She trembled at the thought of facing him. But he did not come to her room and he did not seek her out. She had braced herself for a repeat of her wedding night, determined not to show her emotions, determined not to respond to him as she had before. But he did not come.

  Chapter Ten

  Several days were to pass before Ailsa would encounter Duncan again. He left early to hunt or to patrol the borders of MacLeod lands and sometimes did not return at night. He gave her no notion of his whereabouts, though she heard spiteful rumours from servants that he spent the night in taverns and whorehouses thereabouts. It was whispered that the MacLeod bitch was frigid and therefore distasteful to him in bed so that the laird sought solace elsewhere.

  Ailsa had ignored the slights of those around her and thrown herself into visiting the villagers. They were still loyal to her family and she was welcomed to their hearths. She took strength from their kind words and from in turn helping them with their ills and complaints. But an awful sense of dread and unhappiness clouded her days and sleep was hard to come by.

  Early one morning, as dawn reached bright fingers into her room, Ailsa woke with a need to escape all the worry pressing in on her. She pulled on an old dress of red velvet, a little tatty now but it was her favourite and had happy memories,
having been a gift from her father on the occasion of her sixteenth birthday. She remembered the gaiety of the family gathering and her father’s pride as he told her what a bonny lass she was. What a carefree life she had then and how foolish not to have appreciated it more.

  Ailsa’s figure had filled out considerably in the intervening years and the dress was a little tight in places but she cared not. Her hair she left loose. She was supposed to keep it hidden in a kertle now that she was a married woman but as far as she was concerned her husband could go hang.

  She crept off to the stables and saddled Fingal herself and it took her almost no time at all to melt quietly into the shelter of the woods around the castle. She rode hard for some time along well-worn and familiar paths. It was such a fine day, the air fresh and fragrant with the smell of the pines and bracken.

  Eventually, Ailsa stopped Fingal on the banks of a river, tethering him to a nearby oak tree and sat under it watching the water slide by and listening to the birds call in the trees. What luxury it was to be alone, away from prying eyes and judgemental stares. It was the first time in many weeks that she had indulged herself in the simple pleasure of riding, of doing something just for the fun of it. She did not care about the damp grass soaking her skirts, or how far she had travelled, or the absolute quiet of the dark woods behind her. In fact, she did not care about the consequences of her actions today at all, just like the day she met Duncan, she thought. And suddenly, as if by thinking about evil she had somehow conjured it, she heard his dark, angry voice.

  ‘You are a long way from the castle Ailsa.’ She whirled around and stood up on shaky legs. He emerged slowly from the woods on his black horse. How could that huge creature move so silently?

  ‘What are you doing here?’ she asked breathlessly.

  ‘I’m keeping an eye on my new wife.’ He seemed to spit out the word ‘wife’ like a whiplash. ‘I watched you steal out of the castle at dawn so is it any surprise that I followed you?’ Ailsa flinched back from the huge horse.